the vision

send  ∅ for jericho’s opinion on your muse | @tiidecallingnot accepting.

he has heard of the vastaya, witnessed some of their ways in ionia and now, with his gaze reaching far beyond what any mortal man should—the marai and their struggles were not unknown to the raven’s eye, though they had never been presented as a priority in his agenda. as far as he cares to know, whether the marai live or die, whether their heroine comes to manage replacing the moonstone---

none of it concerns the visionary.

send  ∅ for jericho’s opinion on your muse | @transvcrtonot accepting.

“QUITE THE CURIOUS ONE, vivian.”

the statement comes from him with ease. he’s never been shy about his opinions, though in this case, speaking of the eldritch so casually should seem daunting. still, after all he’s witnessed and been through, it hardly seems to befit him, excessive surprise at face of the supernatural. he tamed demons, his blood withheld magic since birth — surely she seemed to be a primordial sort of entity, but that still meant he hardly felt truly out of his depth.

perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it’d be his hubris, to be so eerily comfortable before her, but only time would tell. 

send  ∅ for jericho’s opinion on your muse | @noxianroseaccepting.

THE MATRON OF THE BLACK ROSE, the fabled & infamous pale woman that nearly costed him both his life and purpose, that costed him more torment than any other factor in his life; she’s a rose with all its thorns untouched, beautifully deceptive with her petals in full bloom. this woman is intriguing in the way most poisonous, noxious creatures are --- graceful to the eye, but deadly to the touch. 

he knows all of that, and yet he offers her a measured quirk of his lips, those ravenlike eyes upon the deceiver.

“once you were a thorn by my side, dear guile, as i am sure you aimed to be,” his tone is almost silky despite the animosity it suggests, a touch amused even. between the two of them, there’s plenty of room for lies but there is also plenty of room for bluntness; he would not do her the disservice of underestimating her wits with meaningless pretense. “perhaps i would say you aimed for more---instead of thorn, you would have rather been a dagger.” the chosen words are heavy but they are uttered in a way that almost make them seem humorous. 

a pause, he vaguely gestures towards the room around them, their seats in the council of the trifarix. he knows how little this ruse of a truce between guile and vision may mean in the long run, but it doesn’t mean it needs to be undermined by the very man who suggested it.

send ∅ for jericho’s opinion on your muse | @impeccable-decisionaccepting.

AN EYEBROW QUIRKED at the sudden inquiry, swain seems to be surprised anyone would be bold enough to ask. his right hand man, his other half, his most loyal companion—what words were there to offer to him that he had not already uttered in between them? what could he possibly say that had already not been said? the half-vastayan had been with him through thick and thin, through glory and disgrace, through nearly every single relevant moment of his story he could possibly think of.

unblinking red eyes upon the questioning fellow, he shifts his gaze from then to the older, shorter man. a smile graces his lips and while it is a faint thing, it seems truly appreciative, a sight rare coming from the demon general.

how dangerous indeed, this need for sincerity he feels. 

wraith!swain is a funny sort of bittersweet verse i have with @eciled and i frankly enjoy writing him as sadly hopeless the poor guy sure gets. sure karma had to bite him in the ass for all the stuff he did, but boy, did it choose to bite hard.

deathless sentence meme | @impeccable-decisionaccepting.

THIS COUNTERPART OF HIS seems to hold many similarities in views and posture despite the obvious differences they hold at surface level. their tales are different, he has so learnt, but he can easily relate, easily grasp what the other speaks of---with all that life has both given and taken from him, he knows bitterness, he knows how life morphs into the most unexpected scenarios in the blink of an eye. from a highborne sheep, to a decorated veteran, to an outcast, to the vision. so many ways his tale could’ve gone and yet, despite how sinuous a road it had been, it had driven him exactly where he should’ve ended. 

curious yet, how he’d not dare to attribute it to fate. he knows how many machinations were involved, how much he struggled and fought to reach where he now stood; he’d not undermine it by pinning it on fate. picking his piece from the board at his turn on their shared boardgame (apparently, yet another thing they both held dear, a taste befitting of strategists like themselves), he makes his move as he hums, murky red eyes meeting gold.

deathless sentence meme | @transvcrtoaccepting.

THE WAY SHE SPEAKS OF CRUELTY feels less like a threat and more like advertisement to the grand general. cruelty was a tool far too underappreciated, he’d wager --- and my, if he did not find good uses for it in his schemes. the creature that lurks by and speaks to him now wants a pact, this much he knows already, and this is but a way of getting her point across. he seems entertained by it, in all truth, sharp gaze upon her shadowy figure.

“vivian, is it not?”

he asks, tone cordial but cold. he minds none of her meddling with his pet raven, the creature but a conduit to his pact with the demon by now. she caws in protest as she’s unceremoniously picked up by the chaotic entity and he seems not to bat an eyelash to it. he knows nothing done to to the raven’s body would harm it truly, what with the thing’s ability of pulling itself back together from disfiguration and disembowelment. 

deathless sentence meme | @eciledaccepting.

the wraith watches the grand general with a humorless look to his face, hovering about her side in her office. she’s probably talking of his sudden entrances, ones that are nearly always accompanied by a gust of cold wind and that likely feel... exaggerated, but are hardly his doing. the eldritch presence of the demon gone from his own soul, his knack for the dark arts still made him a quite classic, powerful poltergeist. 

“quit what, precisely--- being a ghost or showing up to your presence, fury? if it is the first, i have to tell you this entirely consequence of your own doing.”

there’s a sliver of amusement in the way he words himself, but the look he sports on his face is as nonchalant as it gets; there are no lies told in his speech. had she killed him elsewhere, even, perhaps he would not be restricted to a constant haunting in the bastion’s halls, but as it stands, the demon desired his fate to be so. surely, now it had been sealed by them both the punishment should’ve waned, but alas, not all in dark magic works as intended.

deathless sentence meme | @hedonisthemomanceraccepting.

most people would be concerned at such a statement coming from the hemomancer himself, most of all as they remain alone in the quietude of the the grand general’s office. instead of that, however, all the words bring out of jericho is a subtle, nearly mocking smile as he crosses bad leg over his good one on the settee, perching his face over a gloved, flesh-made hand as he studies the blood mage with those unreadable, all-seeing eyes.

it’s silence that befalls the room, thick as a blanket as eye contact doesn’t break. he expects the other to say something else for a moment, as if gauging him; when he doesn’t, he stands to his feet seconds later closing their distance with in quick stride, a demonic claw coming to trace the line of the older one’s jaw with strange elegance, a second before it grasps at fair skin, making sure the mage’s eyes remain upon his. his hold isn’t brutish, no, it’s effortless, much too gentle for a hand crafted out of sheer dark energy, nothing outside the occasional prickle of something akin to simple, harmless static coming out of it. 

in truth, some would call it loving, but most know not to put associate adjective with a man like swain.it’s another long moment before he speaks, those eyes burning through as the overbearing warmth of that hand lingers against unmarred skin.

"truly, i do not know if you mean that as threat or simply as an invitation, vladimir,” he starts, tilting his head as one of his ravens would, staring as unblinking and unflinching as one of his own flock.